Crossyourfingers, and my son will toss you out the door! shouted the motherinlaw.
Honestly, I dont care whose flat this is! she added.
Emily set a plate of breakfast before her husband and stole a glance at the clock. Five past seven. James chewed his eggs slowly, looking up at her only occasionally.
I dont know about you, but Im thrilled Mothers arriving, James said, sipping his coffee. Shes from the countryside. A breath of fresh air does her good.
Emily forced a smile but said nothing. Margarets short visit had already stretched to three weeks, and there was no sign of it ending.
James, didnt you say when Mum plans to go back? Emily asked as gently as she could.
James set his fork down and sighed.
Please, dont start. Shes here to rest. Its hard for her to be alone back in the village.
I understand, but
The kitchen erupted in clatter. Margaret was already awake, already bustling about her morning routinescrubbing dishes and stirring porridge. Emily closed her eyes. Every morning, the same routine.
Good morning, dears! Margaret boomed as she stepped into the doorway. What are you sneaking away with? And what about me?
Mum, Ive already helped myself, James explained. Emilys got to get ready for work.
Oh, of course, shes got a job, Margaret rolled her eyes. And who does the housework then? Back in the village women manage everythingfeed the cows, tend the fields, look after their husbands.
Emily clenched her fists under the table. She had heard that monologue a dozen times. Every day the motherinlaw reminded her that city women were lazy and spoiled.
Margaret, Im really in a hurry, Emily said, checking her watch. I have a meeting at nine.
Ah, a meeting. Sit in your armchair all day and shuffle papers. Thats not work!
James buried his face in his plate, as usual, to avoid the argument.
When Emily returned from work she found her makeup bag spread out on the coffee table in neat rows, like a shop window.
Margaret, have you taken my makeup bag? Emily asked, trying to keep her voice level.
Whats the big deal? Margaret replied, eyes glued to the television at full volume. Im just watching what you slather on with that cityborn chemistry. In my day we didnt need those jars to have a decent complexion!
Emily silently gathered her things and retreated to the bathroom. It wasnt the first time Margaret had rifled through her belongings. The week before, Margaret had emptied every cupboard to set things straight, leaving Emily two days without the documents she needed.
After dinner, the sink was piled high with dishesMargaret washed them only once a week, on Sunday. She turned on a tiny radio and belted out an old folk tune, her voice booming through the flat.
Could you turn it down a bit? Emily asked. The neighbours are complaining.
What neighbours? Margaret snapped. In the village we sing until dawn and no one complains!
We live in a block of flats, Emily reminded her. There are different rules here.
Rules, rules Margaret muttered, but switched the radio off. You city folk are all so gloomy.
Later, when James came home, Emily tried to speak quietly with him.
James, could you talk to Mum? she whispered as they were alone in the bedroom. Explain that the flat is tiny and the walls are thin
What am I supposed to say? James waved his hands. Mums Mum. Shes sixtyfive. Im not going to raise her.
Im not talking about raising her, Emily sighed. Just about mutual respect.
Its fine, dont exaggerate, James shrugged. Just be patient. She wont stay forever.
Days passed, and Margaret showed no sign of leaving. In fact, she kept settling in more and more, arranging the flat to her liking.
One evening Emily came home to find the flat unusually cold. All the windows were wide open despite a fifteendegree chill outside.
Margaret, why have you opened the windows? Its freezing! Emily shouted, hurriedly shutting them.
Fresh air! Margaret declared proudly. Your city is stuffy. The country air is cleaner.
But the radiators cant cope with that cold. Were paying for heating.
Oh, here we go again with the money! Margaret snapped. City folk only think about cash.
By the end of the third week Emily felt like a guest in her own flat. Margaret had remade the bed, reorganised every cupboard smartly, even retuned the TV to what she called proper programmes.
At lunch Margaret launched into a tirade about Emilys soup.
Thats not borscht, its coloured water, she said, frowning. In my village a spoonful of borscht can lift you off the floor! Youve undercooked the potatoes and skimmed the meat.
If you want, you can cook it yourself, Emily snapped.
Fine, I will! Margaret replied, puffing up. Ill show you how its done.
The next day she did. The kitchen looked like a battlefieldgrease splattered everywhere, a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink, the floor slick with oil.
This is real food! Margaret announced, placing a massive pot of something that vaguely resembled stew on the table.
The stew was tasty, but Emilys mind was on the endless cleaning that awaited her.
Mum, will you wash the dishes? James asked timidly.
Dishes? Margaret raised an eyebrow. Back in the village men never washed dishes. Thats womens work.
But you just cooked, James reminded her.
My main job was feeding the family! The dishes can wait until Sunday. Those are my rules.
James gave Emily a guilty look and turned back to the football on TV.
By the end of the month Emilys patience was frayed. She barely sleptMargaret snored so loudly the walls shook, and in the mornings she complained that the young folk were creaking the bed all night.
Margaret mixed towels with kitchen rags, wiped the kitchen with a bath towel, and used Emilys face cream to polish the heels of the old cow she kept in the garden.
When Emily finally tried to tell James how the situation was driving her to a nervous breakdown, he exploded.
Youre never satisfied! he shouted. Mum does what she thinks is best, and you keep complaining. She cooks, she cleans
Seriously? Emily couldnt believe her ears. She doesnt clean. I clean up after her every day. And after you, too.
Here we go again, James sighed. You cant go without a complaint.
After that argument Emily decided to make peace. Sooner or later Margaret would have to return to her village, with its farm, garden and neighbours.
But weeks went by and Margaret seemed to be setting up a permanent base in the city.
The final straw came with the curtains. Emily had spent a week picking the fabric, ordering the sewing, and using almost half of her bonus. The new light curtains brightened the room, making it feel larger.
That night Margaret was making dumplings. Emily was working on an urgent project when the front door swung open.
Emily, have you seen whether the dumplings are ready? I need to wash my hands, Margaret called.
Emily entered the kitchen and saw Margaret wiping her hands on the fresh curtains, leaving greasy smears on the pale fabric.
Something inside Emily snapped. She didnt raise her voice or fling anything. She spoke quietly but firmly:
Margaret, those are new curtains. Use a towel for your hands.
Oh, its just a little stain, Margaret waved it off. Ill wipe it later.
Its not about the stains, Emily continued, feeling resolve building. Its about respect. Youve been living in our flat for a month and a half and have never asked before moving my things, rearranging furniture, or changing the order of the rooms.
Margarets face flushed.
What do you mean our flat? she demanded. This is my sons house! Im not a guest!
This is our shared home, Emily replied calmly. I would like you to respect our space.
Margaret slammed a pot onto the table.
Crossyourfingers, and my son will throw you out! she shouted. I dont care whose flat this is!
The kitchen fell silent. Margarets words hung heavy in the air. Emily stared at her, and something clicked inside her, like a switch being turned off.
Emily did not shout back. She did not cry. She did not slam the door. She simply stood still.
She walked to the bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and pulled out Margarets suitcasethe same one she had arrived with for a week a month and a half ago. She unzipped it slowly and placed it on the bed.
Margaret appeared in the doorway, surprise turning to disbelief, then anger.
What are you doing?! she yelled, watching Emily methodically open the dresser and pack Margarets clothessweaters, skirts, underwearcarefully, so nothing creased.
Emily said nothing, just kept packing.
Ill call James, Margaret threatened, pulling out her phone. Hell sort this out!
Emily gave a quiet nod, as if agreeing, then went to the bathroom and collected Margarets toiletriesshampoo, soap, toothbrushand packed them too.
Hello, James! Margaret shouted into the handset. Your wife has gone mad! Shes packing my things!
Emily heard none of James reply, but could see the hesitation on Margarets face as the son lingered in the hallway.
When the suitcase was full, Emily zipped it, carried it to the hallway, and opened a taxi app. The village where Margaret lived was about forty miles away not far at all.
The taxi will be here in fifteen minutes, Emily told Margaret, finally addressing her directly. Ive paid for the ride to your home.
Margarets mouth fell open. No one in her village would ever dare shout at her like this.
You you have no right! she stammered. I havent even been here a month and a half! Its cold in my own house!
Theres a neighbour, Mrs. Whitaker, Emily replied calmly. You said she looks after the house. Im sure shes keeping the fire going.
Margaret opened her mouth to argue, but found no words. The phone rang, and she snatched it up greedily.
Son! she wailed. Your mother is throwing me out! Come quick, do something!
Emily knew James would not come. He always avoided conflict, preferring to hide behind the newspaper or his phone.
Fifteen minutes later the taxi pulled up. Emily lifted the heavy suitcase and walked to the door.
Are you leaving? she asked the motherinlaw, who stood with arms crossed.
Margaret glared. Do you think Ill just walk away?
You could stay, Emily said, shrugging. Then Ill call the council for a formal complaint. This is my flat, I have the tenancy papers. Decide.
Something in Emilys voice made Margaret believe she was serious. She grabbed her coat, her bag, and stormed out onto the stairwell.
Emily placed the suitcase in the boot, the driver helped her load it, and the taxi drove away down the quiet street.
Back in the flat Emily closed the door behind her, leaned against it and let the silence wrap around her like a warm blanket on a winter night. She washed her hands at the sink, dried them with a proper towel, and looked at the clockjust before eight. James would be home soon.
She didnt cook dinner; instead she brewed a cup of tea and sat by the window, letting the morning light fill the room. Anger had melted away, replaced by a gentle relief. For the first time in weeks she felt calm.
Her phone buzzed with a message from James: Running late. Dont wait up. She smiled. He wasnt going to return immediately; he feared confronting the situation. But she no longer needed his approval to feel safe.
The flat was finally quiet. No blaring television, no clattering dishes, no endless stories about farm life. Just peacepure, beautiful peace.
Emily glanced at the curtains. The greasy marks left by Margarets hands were still faint, but she could have them cleaned tomorrow or simply buy new onesbrighter, airier.
Her phone rang again. It was Margaret.
Hello, Emily answered calmly.
I I knew you were a terrible wife! Margaret hissed. James will understand now!
Margaret, Emily said, Im not trying to push James away. If he wants to move back to the village, thats his choice. But I will no longer allow anyone to disrespect my home or me.
Youll regret this! Margaret spat before hanging up.
Emily finished her tea, slipped into a warm bath, put on her favourite nightgownone shed been too shy to wear in front of Margaretand curled up with a book, finally able to read before sleep rather than iron or scrub.
Around midnight a key turned in the front door. James shuffled in, his steps unsteady, clearly having had a drink. Emily turned off the lights and pretended to be asleep. The conversation could wait till morning.
In the morning she awoke to silence. No clanging of pots, no loud TV, no folk songs from a tiny radio. It was unusualand wonderful.
James sat at the kitchen table, eyes red from lack of sleep.
Mother said you threw her out, he began without greeting.
Yes, Emily replied simply, setting the kettle on.
She cried. She said you were cruel.
I called a taxi and packed her things, Emily said, shrugging. I didnt shout, I didnt shove, I didnt insult.
James fell silent, gathering his thoughts.
You could have just put up with it, he finally said. Shes not young anymore.
James, Emily looked him straight in the eye, your mother threatened to throw me out of my own flat. She doesnt respect me or my home. Ive endured this for a month and a half. Enough.
So what now? James asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.
Now you choose, Emily said calmly. You can go back to your mothers village and stay there. I wont stop you. Or you can stay here, but your mother will never cross this threshold again.
Youre giving me an ultimatum? James protested.
Im setting boundaries, Emily said, shaking her head. For the first time in five years of marriage Im saying no. This is my final decision.
James opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Something new flickered in his gazea calm confidence he hadnt shown before. Perhaps, for the first time, he truly saw Emilys worth.
Ill think about it, he said quietly and left the kitchen.
Emily poured herself another cup of tea and walked to the window. The sunrise flooded the room with golden light. The day promised a fresh start. No matter what James decided, Emily knew she would never again allow anyone to disturb the peace and respect of her home.
She had learned that setting clear limits protects both the heart and the house, and that selfrespect is the foundation of a harmonious life.
